


Water and Logic and Hunger

by voleuse



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-13
Updated: 2007-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-04 06:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>You are, he said, beautiful. / That is not love, she said rightly.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Water and Logic and Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> Set after 3.10. Title and summary adapted from Robert Bringhurst's _These Poems, She Said_.

It's a long night, and Izzie is off-shift. She tried to fight it, and they set her home for the week instead. (Something about legal issues. Webber said she should get a lawyer, and Cristina muttered something about how she can afford one, now.) Everybody else is working, as far as Izzie knows. So she does what she always does when she doesn't know what to do.

She bakes.

She bakes _a lot_, in fact, and drops off most of the cookies at Joe's when she's done. He looks at her with concern, but she's showered and awake this time around, so he pats her on the shoulder instead of calling for an intervention.

She refuses to go to the hospital today. They wouldn't let her in anyway--Bailey said something about putting security on alert. Izzie doesn't believe that, of course, but she's not going to test it.

She has three dozen cookies and nowhere to go. Except, when she closes her eyes, she can picture the board.

It's a long night, and she knows exactly who else isn't working.

*

 

George left Callie's room number scribbled on a Post-It stuck to his mirror. It isn't Izzie's fault that he left it out in the open in his bedroom, where anybody who felt like polishing mirrors while she was bored could have seen it and committed it to memory.

She doesn't like Callie, really, but she promised George she would make an effort. And even if he and Callie are broken up now, Izzie's going to make an effort, because she is a good person. She packs up two dozen cookies and commends herself on what a good person she is.

The doorman smiles at her when she swings through the revolving door, and when she steps into the elevator, she punches the floor's button with confidence. It's a high number. (She could afford the penthouse, if she wanted.) When the doors open again, she's confronted with a mirror, set in an elaborate gold frame. Her hair is affixed in a messy chignon, and she forgot to put on lipstick this morning. Her sweater is slipping off one shoulder, exposing the strap of her camisole.

Izzie doesn't care if she looks less than perfect. She saunters through the wide hallways, footsteps cushioned by the plush carpet. She scans the room numbers idly, finally spotting Callie's room. She square herself in front of the door, takes a deep breath, and knocks.

When the door swings open, it frames Addison Montgomery-Shepherd, who looks just as surprised as Izzie feels.

"Stevens." Her hair is mussed, and her lipstick smeared in one corner.

Izzie gulps. "Doctor Montgomery-Shepherd." She looks at the room number again. "Sorry, I thought this was Callie's--"

"Did you order room service?" Callie appears behind Addison.

Once again, Izzie wonders whether Callie wears pants outside the hospital, _ever_.

"It's Stevens," Addison offers up, and she rubs her forehead, expression weary.

Callie sneers. "Checking up on me?"

"No." Izzie sneers right back, holding up her basket of baked goods. "I brought you cookies."

"Oh." Callie goes blank, then looks embarrassed. "You want to come in?" She steps back, leaving a clear path into the room.

Against her better judgment, Izzie takes the opening.

The room is spacious, its architecture implying a division between the bedroom and the front space. It looks comfortable and anonymous.

On the floor beside the sofa, there is a pair of jeans crumpled. And a bra. Two bras, in fact.

Izzie clears her throat and looks up at the ceiling. "I didn't, like, interrupt something, did I?"

"You're a doctor," Callie says, her voice all insinuation. "Do the math."

Izzie looks back at them, at Callie closing the door, pantsless. At Addison, slouching into a chair, looking resigned.

She thinks, with delight, this will kill George. Then she stops and considers the thought again. This will _kill_ George.

"So is this a two beer thing?" she asks them. "Or a full-on lifestyle choice?"

"Put the cookies on the table," Callie replies. "And you'd better hope to God you have oatmeal raisin in there, or I'm going to kick your ass."

*

 

The hypothetical two beers, it turns out, are actually a bottle of bourbon and a box from the Godiva Platinum collection. While Callie digs through the basket of cookies, Addison gestures to Izzie.

"Help yourself," she says. "The mousses are delicious."

"Well." Izzie considers refusing, but then she considers the alternative: going home. "I guess so."

Callie holds up an oatmeal raisin cookie, waves it with triumph. "Your ass is saved."

"Thanks," Izzie says, lifting an eyebrow. Addison laughs.

Izzie tips the lid off the chocolate box, and picks out the prettiest looking piece. She sets it on her tongue, and her eyes roll back for a second. "God."

"Mm-hmm." Addison is watching her with a smile.

Izzie turns her attention to the bourbon. There aren't any glasses, so she picks up the bottle. She weighs it in her hand, then tips her head back, takes a swig.

Callie hoots and applauds. The bourbon burns down Izzie's throat, and she manages to only cough once. She sets the bottle down, the glass clattering against the tabletop. "God," she says again.

Addison claps her on the shoulder. "Welcome to ladies' night, Stevens."

Callie nudges the cookie basket across the table. "Want a cookie?"

*

 

When the sun pries open Izzie's eyelids, she's sprawled across an unfamiliar and extremely comfortable mattress. There's Egyptian cotton fluttering against her back, and a leg draped over her hips.

Izzie wakes up, and remembers. "God," she says.

"You have really got to work on that vocabularly, Izzie." Callie emerges from the bathroom, fragrant steam rolling out behind her. "All night, it's 'God' this and 'oh God' that."

"Oh, God," Izzie echoes.

"See! Like that. Well," Callie tugs at the towel wrapped around her body, "not _just_ like that."

Izzie rises up on her elbows. "But if you're-- then who--"

"Stevens." Addison rolls over, her leg slipping off of Izzie. "Have you never learned how to properly respect a hangover?"

Izzie sits up, pulling the sheet to cover her breasts. "There was bourbon. And chocolate."

"And cookies," Callie notes.

"And you're sick of men," Addison continues. "Particularly intern men. If I remember correctly."

"Ah," Izzie says, because the rest of the night is a blur of sugar and liquor and silk and skin. She looks over at Addison, and has a particularly vivid flashback. She fights the urge to cross her ankles.

Callie slides onto the bed and reaches for the phone. "I'm ordering breakfast." Addison murmurs and curls around her. "You want anything, Izzie?"

"Eggs Benedict," Izzie responds, before she remembers she's supposed to be embarrassed.

"Bacon. And coffee and grapefruit juice," Addison adds.

While Callie orders, Addison stretches, her face brushing against Izzie's hip. And somehow, Izzie doesn't mind that at all.


End file.
